


where the wind won't go

by Belfire



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Nightwing (Comics), Red Hood and the Outlaws (Comics), Red Robin (Comics)
Genre: 18th century AU, Dick will do anything for his brothers, F/M, Fucking Pirates, Gotham is in England and don't ask me why, I don't know what Jason's accent is, Implied/Referenced Underage Prostitution, Jason is an Irish lad, M/M, Period-Typical Homophobia, Period-Typical Racism, Pirates, Roman Catholicism, Romani Dick Grayson, Slade is the worst, Tim needs to be protected
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-24
Updated: 2019-07-24
Packaged: 2020-07-17 03:37:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,809
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19945645
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Belfire/pseuds/Belfire
Summary: "... Dickie?" Slowly, the Irish boy rose off the seat and turned full circle, frightened by the emptiness all around. Dickie wasn't here. He was always here when they woke up. Always. He never let them wake up alone."Dickie?"Something was wrong. He sensed it. He sensed it right away.





	where the wind won't go

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Reah22](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Reah22/gifts).



> it's three AM, I can't sleep, I decided to write this instead of battling insomnia and now I'm sharing it with you. No, I don't know what it is, where it's going or why I tried to write an Irish accent.

"- Off me, ye goddamn fucking gorilla! Oi'll cut yer hands off! Oi'll shove ye back inside yer momma! Oi'll - Oi'll-"

The gypsy boy watched it unfold from across the street. His hand tightened around his five-year-old brother's cold dirty one. They watched in silence as the angry store owner carried an angrier ball of redheaded fury out his establishment by the scruff. The redhead kicked and hit and struggled and bit the man whenever he got flesh close enough to his jagged teeth.

"And don't come back, mutt!" The store owner swung the redhead to throw him far into the street.

Dick flinched at the dull thwap of Jason's horribly malnourished body colliding with the rough cobblestones that made up the road. He was so light he bounced. Once. Twice. And scraped his chin and his palms where he failed to catch himself.

Timmy was whimpering, sucking on his thumb noisily. He didn't talk all that much but the cause of his distress went across clear. Grim, Dick mentally urged his other brother to hurry up. A carriage thundered towards him and it wouldn't slow or move aside. In this part of town, kids frequently got run over in the roads by careless upper-class citizens with no regard for anyone lesser. If the afflicted children weren't lucky enough for instant death, then snapped bones and shredded muscle would end them anyway.

Jason scrambled rapidly to his feet, just in time to narrowly escape the two black galloping stallions drawing a carriage behind. The driver yelled a heated profanity to the glaring boy he nearly killed without blinking.

"Blow it out yer ass, ye fucking wanker!" Jason yelled, shaking his tiny fist. All of his nine-year-old rage was barely contained within the capacity of his starved body.

Timmy's suckling increased in vigour. Another frail whimper quivered past his gapped milk teeth.

"Eyh, don't cry there, Timmy. S'nuthin' to worry 'bout." Jason assured as he limped back, dusting himself off. His efforts to tidy up his coarse once-white tunic were wasted, nothing could save the garment after a certain amount of grime and sweat and blood sunk into the fibres. The threads started coming apart ages ago, revealing his muddy freckled skin in patches. In particular, half of one shoulder was on display, though it was nothing his long red hair couldn't hide. The tips of it touched his shoulder blades, all matted with sticks and dirt.

"Nothing to worry about? You almost got yourself turned into a pancake." Dick frowned in disapproval. He took Jason's wrist to examine the scraped palm, encased with grit and small stones. It was a flesh wound. They were lucky it was unlikely to get infected. Dick picked the biggest bits of dirt out without so much as a flinch from the boy with the high pain tolerance.

"'Scuse me for tryna get us some dinner. Lid'l Timmy's startin' to look like a chicken bone." Pulling his hand free, Jason gestured to the smallest among them, the five-year-old deep throating his thumb and staring at them with impossibly big eyes, like two pools of dark water.

It was true, what Jason said, Tim was dangerously thin but that was the case for them all. It'd been a week since they last ate. Actually, it was longer than that for Dick but he kept it to himself that he often gave his scraps to his little brothers. They were smaller. They needed it more.

"We's gonna be worm food soon, Dickie." Jason went on in his distinctly strong Irish brogue. He did so with a sigh and slight slump to the line of his tense shoulders. He was right to be unsure as to what they did now. That was the routine question. How to survive today?

Exhaling through his nostrils, Dick pinched the bridge of his nose, a scowl scrunching up his features. God. He needed to get his brothers food at a desperate pace. They wouldn't survive another day of this.

Their thieving faces were known far and wide across Gotham, they couldn't get close enough to a market or store to steal without getting caught. They needed _money_.

Dick's gaze moved over Jason's and Timmy's gaunt eyes, green and blue, hungry and exhausted, and he knew he was going to do something.

"C'mon, lads, let's find some shelter, yeah? We'll get some tucka tomorrow." Dick took their cold grubby hands, one into each of his own, and started to lead them down the alleyway, away from the bustle of the city. Nightfall was beginning to peek its head and that was when a couple of kids absolutely should not be out in the open. They'd get chopped up by the latest deranged killer or dragged into the carriage of a rich scumpile with a hankering to touch little boys.

There was no shortage of that around. Wealthy fucks with enough influence in the family to brush it under the rug whenever a child went missing, shortly after being sighted with them. The orphans had lost friends like that. Too many friends.

So with that disquieting risk firmly in mind, Dick pulled Jason and Timmy along after. He didn't want to lose the tiny family he had. Not again. 

They found overnight sanctuary in the form of the old rundown Protestant church, abandoned until mass at dawn. They crawled in through a smashed back window, poorly boarded up against the weather and thieves.

The boys piled into the corner of a pew furthest from the altar, Timmy tucked beneath Dick's arm while Jason curled up beside his big brother, nuzzling comfortably into his side.

"G'noight, Dickie." The redhead murmured sleepily, drawing his knees to his chest. His slender arms wound tightly around himself. Dick glanced at him; Jason's eyelids were growing heavy and falling shut.

"'Night, Jay."

A string of drool rolled down Timmy's chin, glistening on the thumb sliding out of his mouth. He was already beginning to doze. His too-big jacket and overalls with one strap broken hung around his tiny body like nesting materials.

Dick sighed, removing Timmy's thumb from his mouth with a wet pop. The poor kid was too tuckered out to respond. His lips continued on in the sucking motion for a few seconds before he yawned, squeezing his eyes shut hard. It was bad for his teeth to keep sucking on his fingers like that. He was already _five_ , he shouldn't be doing that anymore.

Soon, soft sound breathing told him both Jason and Timmy slept fast, undisturbed by the horrors outside these walls. For just a couple of hours. 

Yawning, Dick leaned heavier against the solid hard back of the pew, pulling his brothers closer to himself. He couldn't sleep, not just yet. Not with so much to worry over.

Jason and Timmy needed to eat. They needed to have money and sleep somewhere warm for once. They were just _kids_. They depended on him. They trusted him with things they would never tell another soul.

For instance, Dick knew why Jason acted so hissy tough and what gave him the break in his wrist that never healed properly and ached mercilessly throughout the winter months.

Jason came from a lower-class working family of second-generation Irish immigrants. _Devout_ members of the church. His parents were harsh and strict but as far as caring for their child went, they did as decent a job as any. There weren't any bouts of senseless violence.

At first, that is.

As the vague story went, Mrs Todd sent Jason to play outside and she went to hang laundry a while later, when she was disgusted to catch a glimpse of her son planting a kiss onto the neighbour's boy's cheek.

Outraged, she proceeded to tell the father and they decided the best course of action was to beat the devil out of Jason. The kid was six, the gesture with the boy next door was likely entirely innocent, nothing like Mr and Mrs Todd were thinking, but they couldn't let the church discover their son was allegedly a dreaded homosexual.

So they sent him to a catholic school to straighten him out, where the monks were nothing short of relentless with the switching.

Months later, Jason ran away from there when the lashings and canes became more than he could stand. And then he met Dick.

It took almost a year for the redhead to trust the Romani enough to share his story and Dick made it clear that even if Jason was one of those shunned members of society, he didn't care. He loved him all the same. Jason murmured something gruff under his breath and nodded. He never said whether or not his parents were right about him but as aforementioned, Dick didn't care.

The Romani stared at the ceiling with its elegantly painted depictions of scripture. Jason knew the testaments by heart, he would be able to tell Dick why that man was being devoured by a whale.

Timmy's life story was different but ultimately the same when it all came down to it. His mother died in childbirth, his father was a neglectful jackass who didn't pay the slightest heed to his toddler. A toddler whose hand slipped out of his father's in a crowd for just a few moments when the man reached to grope the milkmaid. By the time he realised he wasn't holding onto Timmy anymore, the boy'd been swallowed up by the moving ocean of people.

Jack Drake was probably relieved to be rid of him. Dick and Jason determined that the one time they tried to return Timmy to his father, back when they didn't know all the details. Dear old Jack had an odd way of grieving the loss of his child, if being sheathed inside a tavern slut in a back alleyway could be considered that.

So Timmy joined their little band of unwanted orphans.

And Dick? Well, his story wasn't that remarkable. Born into a dirt poor gypsy community, his parents couldn't afford all the babies they pumped out like rabbits and opted to sell one to make ends meet.

Not that interesting, really. Nothing worth crying over.

Around the time Dick wagered an hour passed, he cautiously rolled Timmy off him. The kid made a sleepy snuffle but curled tighter into a ball. Dick breathed a quiet relieved breath when he didn't wake up.

Jason's head had rolled into his lap, the next step was carefully removing him. Nipping on his lower lip, Dick placed his hands on his little brother's temples and raised him off his thighs. Jason stirred, muttered a profanity and turned onto his side as Dick slid from beneath him.

"... Fuck ye, ye... grimy fuckin'... pumpkin toad..." The tip of Jason's tongue slipped out of his mouth for a brief second with his unconscious mumblings. Dick often wondered how Jason remained so foul languaged even in his sleep. It was a skill, nothing short.

Dick removed his jacket and covered the boys with it, tucking it around them as they slept huddled amongst one another. Timmy had crawled against Jason's belly, Jason's arms were looped protectively around him.

"Be back soon." Dick whisper-promised as he snuck off down the aisle separating the rows of oiled wooden benches.

When he crawled back out of the shattered window with its flimsy boards, it was long past sunset and a fine mist of rain fell over the filthy streets. Shuddering, he made to pull his jacket closer to his skin but remembered he left the garment with Jason and Timmy.

In the cold and dark, he regretted that choice almost as quickly as he made it. He stuffed his hands deep into his pockets and pressed his chin to the space between his collarbones, eyes screwing shut against the cold. 

Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, it was arctic out here. Late autumn was running through the hourglass like sand and turning into winter. Winter meant colder. Winter meant worse hunger and the possibility of freezing to death. Timmy almost did last Christmas, his skin was blue and he slept for three days inside Dick's coat. Jason dragged over anything he could find to burn in their measly alleyway fire, the only thing that kept them alive.

Would they survive another season as brutal as the last? Dubious. Very dubious.

But that was tomorrow's concern. Now Dick should be concentrating on bringing food to the table. There was one surefire way to get a few coins fast and he did it as rarely as possible. 

Dick swallowed anxiously. This might be one of those times where he had no other choice. He didn't look forward to whimpering over a stranger's shoulder while they used his body like a cheap toy... But he _had_ to take care of his family.

One of them needed to make the sacrifices. Jason insisted that they take turns in doing this undesirable thing, but Dick firmly said no everytime. Jason was too young for that. Much too young. A little kid shouldn't be involved in this filth.

" _Ye shouldn't be lettin' them sick fucks fuck ye this way an' that just fo' us. Ye an' Oi'll take turns to keep thems tables all fair like_." Sometimes, Jason's accent got too thick for most to understand but it was still a hard pass on what he was proposing.

Besides, if they were being honest here, Irish kids were common on the streets, no one raised a brow to see one scampering around. At the same time, strange men and women of varying ages liked Dick _specifically_. Wanted him. With his raven-black curls, smooth bronze skin, dollish features and pure crystalline eyes, they said he was _exotic_. Like one of those beautiful gemstone feathered birds from the rainforests Dick's parents used to tell him about. 

After mama and papa sold him off to rich folk frequenting the circus, Mr and Mrs Dent used to parade him around dinner parties like an attraction. Ooh and aah, the guests would go, pointing and poking. These upper-class pasty-faced puffballs of Gotham weren't accustomed to seeing anyone of colour. 

They used to make him wear bright shades, silks and cottons, bold reds and deep blues. His chest and arms were always exposed to be gawked at by curious spectators.

He was adorned in jingly belts with coins and sequins sewn into the material and anklets with tiny bells that tinkled whenever he took a step.

They lined his eyes with black or blue kohl, glossed his lips all shiny and sticky, and drew pictures into his skin with henna paste.

They pierced his ears and put gold rings through, rings he tore out two years ago to buy bread for his brothers. The subsequent outcome was two thick scars running down his earlobes where the flesh was once parted.

The Dents made him dance around suggestively, twirl and wave his arms and hips, a show that always entertained the guests sat at tables swelling with delicacies.

A sliver of silver lining, perhaps the only one there was, came in the form of the Dents flat out turning down every ask to purchase the Roma. And there were _many_ asks.

" _He ain't for sale_." Mr Dent would spit, always chewing tobacco noisily. The smacking of his jaws was forever in Dick's mind.

Shuddering, he turned a corner into Crime Alley, the most dangerous place to-

Dick's heart jumped when he heard the muffled shuffle of a footstep somewhere behind him. He hurried his pace to a jog.

* * *

Streaming golden sunlight made the insides of Jason's eyelids bright pink. He squeezed them shut and turned his face away with a sleepy groan. He didn't want this right now.

The air was crisp, the sunshine did nothing to warm it, and the thing beneath him was solid, hard, and uncomfortable. He was getting bruises from laying on it.

But fuck, he just wanted to sleep.

Sleep... Sleep... _Sleep_!

Jason bolted upright, rapidly shaking Timmy awake by his arm. _Shit_. It was dawn, the priest and alter boys would be here soon and they couldn't be caught dozing off in the pews. There would be _consequences_.

"Oi, Timmy, gets yerself up. We gotsta-" Jason briefly glanced up from the sleepy kid when he noticed something. Where was...? Confused, his gaze swept over the empty sanctuary that would soon be full of peasants praying to a God who didn't listen. But at the moment, say for himself and Timmy, there was no one here.

"... Dickie?" Slowly, the Irish boy rose off the seat and turned full circle, frightened by the emptiness all around. Dickie wasn't here. He was always here when they woke up. _Always_. He never let them wake up alone.

" _Dickie_?"

Something was wrong. He sensed it. He sensed it right away.

**Author's Note:**

> Ta-daa! *sways with tiredness & falls over random log* Now Imma go watch a movie about a big ass shark.


End file.
